


Workplace Transparency

by voiceless_terror



Series: TMA Hurt/Comfort Week [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Day Five: Hiding Pain or Injury, Fainting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jon and Tim Get to Talk Early On, TMAHC Week, in which there is Communication, season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26166121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voiceless_terror/pseuds/voiceless_terror
Summary: The statements take a lot out of Jon, even in the beginning. He tries to hide it, but Tim sniffs it out anyway.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Series: TMA Hurt/Comfort Week [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893808
Comments: 24
Kudos: 348





	Workplace Transparency

**Author's Note:**

> For Day Five: Hiding Pain or Injury/Childhood/Calm. Used these words as sort of stepping stones, so a bit of a loose interpretation of the prompts.

It was odd, reading the statements into the tape recorder. They felt... _different_ , somehow. There was a gravity to them, a weighty importance that Jon could not parse or understand. But he knew, deep down, that every time he committed one to tape, it was taking a little bit of him as well.

He did not consider himself a delicate man. Even when he was in uni, on a college diet of cigarettes and nothing, he was still able to pull all nighters and pretend to be somewhat human. He could smile and go through the motions. But now, every time he fed the recorder a new tape he felt something feeding on him in return. _Watching_.

Jon, of course, was not going to tell anyone else of his worries. He was the skeptic, he was reasonable, feet firmly planted on the ground. If he gave into this paranoia that he has some sort of ‘spooky sickness’ he would lose all credibility. Martin might take him seriously, but Martin was also the type to fuss over every perceived injury or hurt feeling. It was suffocating.

So it was Martin most of all that he avoided after statements. Locked his door for an hour, trying to pull himself through the fog in his brain and the bone-deep chill of his body. It was psychosomatic, it had to be. Perhaps it reminded him too much of his childhood trauma and brought that anxiety bubbling to the surface. Just work through it; his mind would eventually reconcile with his body and he would be fine. He hoped that was how it worked, anyway.

Lost Jon’s Cave. _Take her not me_. Almost three hours of it. The audio was deeply unnerving, even if it had been faked. As with all of the statements recorded to tape, it left him feeling unmoored and scattered. But instead of getting better, getting used to these statements, this one made him feel worse. A watery miasma of uncertainty choking him and anchoring him to his seat.

He coughed and heaved at his desk, desperately trying to stifle the sounds lest any of his assistants come prying. It seemed successful- no one came to his door. Cloying physical effects aside, he was starting to feel the normal dread of the statement. The aching exhaustion that he had grown used to. The clock told him it was 2:30 PM- way past lunch time, and he hadn’t managed to choke anything down for breakfast. Despite feeling shaky, he decided to go to the break room and dig through his pack of protein bars before it got any worse.

The walk over was successful enough. He murmured greetings to his assistants, working at their desks. Tim grunted in response, Sasha had headphones in, but Martin’s head perked up and he gave him a smile, though his brow furrowed. Jon wondered how off he looked to warrant that reaction. The black spots in his vision worsened, and he hurried over to the cabinet area, leaning heavily on the counter top. He willed his arms to move but they felt impossibly heavy. He was fine. He was _fine_.

Until he was not.

The next moments were a bit of a blur. His vision was gone, his head throbbed- he didn’t recall having a headache. Did he hit his head or something? Though he couldn’t see, he could certainly hear the commotion around him.

“Jon! _Jon!_ C’mon, wake up.” Martin. Is he the one shaking him? When did he get on the ground?

“-just went down, did you see that? Has he left his office at all today?” Sasha. Good ol’ reliable Sasha.

“You know how he gets on statement days- wait I think he’s waking up-” Tim. An astute observation, as Jon was now starting to move, attempting to open his eyes.

“Guh,” he informed them eloquently. He sat up on his elbows, blinking at the scene in front of him. Tim and Sasha were crouched in front of him, staring at him in concern. So that means that the person who was attempting to prop him up was Martin. How embarrassing.

“Don’t get up,” Martin commanded in an unusually stern tone. “Sasha, can you get him some water?” She nodded and went about her task immediately. “What happened, Jon? How are you feeling?” This was said much softer.

“Have you been skipping meals again? We’ve talked about this, boss,” Tim gave him an exasperated look, though he was rubbing his arm in comfort. “Just because I can’t keep an eye on you like I used to doesn’t mean I’m not looking out!”

“Y-yes,” he murmured, blinking black spots from his vision. He was feeling a bit better, though the anxious knot in his chest hadn’t eased. “That’s it. Haven’t had anything today, so I was a b-bit...lightheaded. I’m sorry.” He tried for a penitent look, gazing up at them from under his eyelashes. He wasn’t above a little manipulation, and Tim definitely wasn’t immune to his “kicked puppy” look, as Sasha called it. It was better they think him a stressed out mess of a human (which he truly was) than a man in the middle of a mental break.

“You’ve got to take better care of yourself, Jon,” Sasha said as she brought the glass of water to his lips. He tried to grasp it himself, but her steadying hands were still needed.

“You should really go home. Get some sleep,” Martin advised. It was then Jon realized that he was still leaning on the man and jerked forward, spilling the water on his lap.

“I’m fine,” he bit out as his vision wavered again. “If I could just- just get a protein bar, and I’ll be good to go. If someone could help me back to my office, I can get back to work.”

“Oh fuck off, Jon,” Tim’s words were sharp as barbs even as he leaned down to help him up, taking the brunt of his weight. Martin made a noise of dismay as Jon moved away, and Tim shot him a look. “I’m taking you back to your couch, and we’ll go get you actual food.” Jon didn’t fight back as he was dragged from the room, he knew no argument would stop the man who currently had most of Jon’s weight hanging off his shoulder. His dignity needed a rest.

And if he were honest with himself, he would admit that the weighty pressure was beginning to build in his chest again. _Take her not me take her not me._ He shivered as Tim gently deposited him down on the couch, placing him so he was laying back instead of sitting up. He closed his eyes, hoping that Tim would take that as an invitation to leave. Of course, this didn’t work. The man instead knelt down to the side of the couch, and Jon was forced to open his eyes as Tim made no move to speak.

Tim looked more serious than he’d ever seen, his eyes fixed in frank concern. It made Jon feel guilty for burdening him and making him worry. Lord knows they had enough to deal with in the archives.

“I don’t think you’re okay,” Tim said bluntly, raising his hand as Jon opened his mouth to argue. “Look, I know what you’re like when you haven’t eaten. This is...this is different. You’re on edge, you’re _scared_.” Jon scoffed, desperate to keep up his front. “No, don’t try that on me. You know that tough front doesn’t work. Please,” he implored. “Tell me what’s going on. I’m listening.”

Jon’s throat ran dry. Should he confide in him? Would he laugh at him? He didn’t think Tim would leave before he got the truth out of him, and so he reluctantly began to speak.

“Don’t laugh,” he started, and Tim nodded solemnly in agreement. The man looked much different when he wasn’t smiling. “But I think it’s the statements. The uh, the ones-”

“The real ones?” The words held no judgment and Jon found himself nodding along in surprise. Tim had always been one of the best researchers, detail-oriented and obsessed with finding the truth by any means necessary. Despite his teasing and light-hearted demeanor, Tim began all of his research with a skeptic’s eye. He could cut through the bullshit like no one else Jon knew. Of _course_ he would pick up on the real statements. Tim spoke the words that Jon couldn’t admit to even in his thoughts. And Jon owed him the truth.

“I-It’s weird, I don’t feel the same when I’m researching, o-or when I’m looking at other statements,” his voice wavered and Tim put a hand on his arm, giving it a squeeze. “But then the tape recorder, and then suddenly I’m _there_ but I’m not, and I’m _them_ and it pulls me along and I _can’t stop_ -”

“Sh, it’s alright, I understand,” Tim rubbed his hand up and down his arm and Jon leaned into the grounding touch. “That’s why you get so out of sorts when you get interrupted?”

“I mean, yes,” Jon hesitated, then allowed himself a small smile. “But I also don’t like being interrupted.” Tim laughed, but quickly sobered.

“I can hear it. In your voice,” He paused, trying to find the right words. “It’s different. Uncanny. And when I turn the tape recorder on, or do any research on those cases- it’s like I can feel eyes on me, like-”

“Someone’s watching.” Jon murmured and Tim nodded emphatically. “I-I know I say all of these skeptical things, like people are mentally ill or on drugs or...whatever. But,” Should he continue? He hadn’t told anyone this. “It’s not like I’ve never encountered the supernatural. W-when I-I was...I s-saw-” The weight, the gaze- _take her not me take her not me take her not me_ -

Tim’s eyes widened in alarm as he put a hand to Jon’s chest, pushing him to lay back down as he tried to rise, struggling to breathe. “Hey, we don’t need to talk about this now, I’m sorry. I believe you. We’re all here for a reason, obviously.” He drew in a deep breath, urging Jon to copy him. Jon grabbed at the hand on his chest and squeezed, desperate for the contact. After a few minutes, he felt his heart rate steady and received a reassuring smile from Tim.

“Look, Sasha’s out to grab us a bite. Martin’s making tea. And when you’ve eaten,” a nudge at his stomach “and _slept”_ a poke to the head that Jon weakly batted away “-you’re coming back to mine and we’ll talk all this spooky shit out. Come up with a game plan. Sound good?”

“Y-Yeah,” Jon let out weakly, closing his eyes. “Sounds good.”

Later that night, over shitty pizza and even shittier beer, Tim spoke about Danny, shaking with tears and anger. Jon held his hand and told him in turn about Mr. Spider. This was only the start.

The world may be full of terrors, but they didn’t have to face them alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell from all of my entries that I really crave that sweet communication? And also love Season One interactions? If not, I'll need to try harder.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr @voiceless-terror. Have prompts and anon asks open because I'm obsessed with writing and always looking for inspiration. Thanks for reading, let me know if you liked!


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